


I'll Keep You Company

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Sixteen-year-old pair skater Rodney McKay has made it onto Team Canada for the Winter Olympics (with his sister), but he's not focused on the gold: he's focused on a solo skater from Team USA named John Sheppard.





	I'll Keep You Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



> Thanks to the amazing Brumeier for her awesome beta work!
> 
> It was her prompt that got me started: “Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, "Just because I don't care doesn't mean I'm not listening."”

 

This was it, the moment Rodney had been training for his entire life: the Olympics. He’d sacrificed so many things in the name of making it here - piano, acting. Physics. Though there was more physics in figure skating than people appreciated. Rodney was the best on the ice not just because he trained for hours every day but because he understood the mechanics of each move inside and out. He wasn’t in it for the parties (endless crowds of morons and the risk of citrus poisoning at every turn) or the travel (he hated traveling). He was in it for the excellence. For the experience. So he could prove that he was the  _ best. _

“Mer, you’re not listening to me.” Jeannie tugged on his arm.

“Just because I don’t care doesn’t mean I’m not listening,” he said. He could multitask. Yes, he was world-renowned as one half of the best pair of figure skaters in the world. He was also a genius of unrivaled intellect.

“Then what did I say?”

Rodney closed his eyes, breathed in the familiar scent of an ice rink. Opening ceremonies were tomorrow night. Today was the real big day. The arrival at the Olympic complex. “You’re narrating the incoming parade of our competitors. The American team Carter and Mitchell, media darlings known as Sam’n’Cam. The Japanese team, Kusanagi and Yuy. The UK team, Mal Doran and Grodin. The Czech team, Biro and Zelenka -”

“The love of your life, John Sheppard.”

Rodney’s eyes snapped open. “Where?”

Jeannie lifted her chin. “There.”

On the other side of the rink.

John Sheppard, looking completely innocuous, was leaning on the wall, smiling faintly to himself as he took in the empty stadium, the ice rink, the bleachers. Rodney hadn’t seen John in months, hadn’t let himself think of the man, because he and Jeannie had things to think about, like preparing to compete in the Olympics.

The first time Rodney had seen John Sheppard was when they were both thirteen years old and at their first international competition. Rodney and Jeannie had swept the pair skating event at the Canadian nationals just a few months before, and then it was on to the North American Challenge Skate. Even though by experience Rodney and Jeannie were technically advanced novices, Rodney knew they’d been ready to take on juniors. Rodney had been focused on that fact, trying to convince Coach Weir to let him petition the ISU in person, but she’d just shoved him toward the boys’ locker room, and he’d crashed into John, who’d been malingering in the doorway for no good reason.

Rodney didn’t realize just how cute John was till halfway through shouting at him.

John had accepted Rodney’s berating with a bowed head, saying nothing but a soft apology before ducking around him, and then Rodney stomped to his locker, still fuming (because an injury could ruin his chances at the competition or even wreck his career) but also wondering how he could apologize, because John was cute and he was also a figure skater and that meant there was slightly greater chance he could be into Rodney and -

And also he was a damn good skater. He was American, which was a unfortunate for him, but it meant they could talk to each other without a translator (flirting with that one Russian girl had gone so poorly that one time). Also John only skated solo, which meant they’d never have to compete directly.

Now Rodney was sixteen, had graduated from high school, and was worthy of the Olympics. For three years he and John had crossed paths over and over again, at different competitions, warming up on the ice, in the locker rooms. Rodney had also obsessively tracked John’s career on the internet, followed all his social media pages, and watched videos of his performances whenever he could. He’d managed to keep it a secret from Jeannie for all of three weeks, and after sulking and enduring a lot of mocking, he’d accepted Jeannie’s assistance in keeping track of John. In addition to Rodney politely commenting on John’s social media using his own social media account, he had sock puppet accounts so he could get online and destroy any trolls or detractors, because John was beautiful, and John was brilliant.

When he wasn’t on the ice, he’d curl up on a bench with fiendishly difficult sudoku puzzle books and other logic and math cipher books, filling them out with astonishing speed and brilliance. The first time Rodney had seen one tucked haphazardly into John’s gym bag, he’d been confused and suspicious, but then he saw John actually solving the puzzles, and that was it.

He was gone. Head over heels.

There were rumors that John was dating Teyla Emmagan, one of the female solo skaters on the US Olympic team, and pictures of the two of them standing close and smiling and laughing together were all over social media, but Teyla was nowhere to be seen now.

Jeannie jammed an elbow into his ribs. “Could you be more obvious? Just - go over and talk to him already.”

“Can’t. He’s the enemy,” Rodney said reflexively.

“He is not. He’s solo,” Jeannie said. “And this is the Olympics, not a war. We’re supposed to be coming together and celebrating -”

“It’s a competition,” Rodney said stiffly.

John was still gazing out across the ice, but then Teyla Emmagan appeared, put a hand on his shoulder, and he straightened up.

“Now might be your only chance. When no one’s watching. When you can just be - you.” Jeannie’s expression was sympathetic.

Rodney just being himself rarely went well unless it was on the ice, to music, with Jeannie beside him. He shook his head. “C’mon. We’ve seen what we need to see. Let’s go.”

“But we have to make sure we know which lockers are ours -”

Rodney turned away and ducked out, because Teyla Emmagan was leaning close to John with her hand still on his shoulder and smiling at him while he laughed at something she’d said, and they were close enough to kiss, and there was no need to stick around for the grand finale.

*

The opening ceremony was a combination of sheer boredom and also a mad blur. Whatever Jeannie said, it was like war: hurry up - and wait.

Rodney felt like there was a huge hurry to get to the stadium, to find their spots in line with their country’s delegation, and then shuffling so the right person - Chuck Campbell, a speed skater - could be up front to carry the flag. And then they stood shivering forever, till it was Canada’s turn in the parade of nations. Rodney huddled beside Jeannie, wary of  any of the hockey players or lugers or other thugs trying to shove their cold hands up his shirt or down his shirt or anywhere on his person, because they did that to each other all the time.

And then it was time to march out, and Rodney had forgotten that Jeannie had been allowed to choose their walkout song, and everyone else was cheering and dancing and snapping selfies. What followed was a blur as Rodney and Jeannie were separated, passed around to other people for dancing and cheers and selfies, and then they finished their lap of the stadium and headed up to their spot in the stands, and it was back to the waiting.

For the USA delegation to come out. There were a couple hundred of them, and chances were Rodney wouldn’t be able to pick John out in the crowd, but that didn’t stop him from fidgeting and craning his neck and hoping.

Teyla Emmagan was carrying the flag, but John was nowhere near. Instead she was walking beside Ronon Dex, the giant who was barely older than Rodney but was the captain of the hockey team.

Once the parade of nations was done, the cultural celebrations began, and the evening blurred once more in a flurry of fireworks, music, dancing, drums, singing, and cheers. Endless, deafening, cheers and applause and screaming and whistling and noisemakers and those foghorns, and Rodney’s head spun.

The cultural celebration blurred into the mass exodus from the stadium into the return trip to the Olympic village to the after-party.

Rodney had had exactly zero ambitions to attend the after-party because Coach Weir had been very strident with them about how they were under no circumstances to get drunk or otherwise intoxicated or hurt or pregnant or impregnate anyone. Jeannie had nodded earnestly, looking completely unembarrassed, and then promptly went to giggle with Amelia, a snowboarder, about a hockey player named Kaleb. 

Rodney didn’t like parties because he didn’t like people, and if he wanted to perform at his peak he needed to be well-rested and adjust to the new timezone as soon as possible. But Jeannie wanted to go to the party, because Jeannie wanted to hang out with Amelia and see Kaleb, and what would Mom and Dad think if Rodney let Jeannie go to a party alone?

(Mom wouldn’t give a damn and Dad would lose his head, but Rodney wouldn’t say that to Jeannie.)

So Rodney submitted to Jeannie and Amelia picking him an outfit and bundling him out of the dorms and to the common room that functioned as the central hub for the Canadian delegation in the Olympic village.

Only it wasn’t just Canada there, it was - everyone. Rodney recognized Kusanagi and Yuy dancing in the middle of the floor, and Sam and Cam on the edge of the dancefloor, and Mal Doran up on a table. The entire Russian hockey team was trying to woo British solo skater Sarah Gardner.

Jeannie handed Rodney a red plastic cup of some unidentifiable beverage (possibly citrus-laced and not even coming close to Rodney’s bloodstream) and patted him on the arm, then plunged into the crowd, Amelia on her heels.

Rodney glanced around, disposed of the cup in the nearest garbage can, and retreated to the quietest corner he could find.

He’d just settled against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, when a boy said, “No.”

Rodney started, saw John Sheppard sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, a cipher book open on it. He had a pen in his hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“No what?”

John glanced up. “Oh, sorry. Thought you were Ronon or Cam or someone else come to try to drag me onto the dancefloor.”

“I don’t want to dance either,” Rodney said. 

John returned to focusing on his puzzle book.

After a moment, Rodney sat down beside him. He wasn’t sure if he’d been forgotten or was being ignored. John was working through the puzzle with impressive speed. Rodney would never admit it, but he probably couldn’t have solved the puzzle that fast. John’s pen flew across the page, filling in numbers with unerring confidence and accuracy.

But eventually his pen slowed. It wasn’t because the puzzle was suddenly too hard for him. Maybe he was finally bored of it?

Out on the dancefloor, Jeannie was dancing with Kaleb the hockey player.

_ Now might be your only chance, _ she’d said. She was wrong. They’d gotten as far as they had in pair skating because Rodney had made every chance his chance.

Rodney cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said.

John lifted his head. “What?”

Rodney said, a little louder, “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “For yelling at you.”

John blinked. “You didn’t yell at me.”

“When we first met,” Rodney said.

When John continued to look confused, Rodney added, “Three years ago.”

John smiled faintly. “Oh. That. All is forgiven. It was forever ago.” Then he raised his eyebrows. “Have you been feeling guilty about that all this time?”

“It was very rude of me,” Rodney said. “And unfair to you.”

John shrugged. “Like I said, it was forever ago.” Abruptly he closed his puzzle book, folded it in half and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “You want to get out of here?”

“And go where?”

John rose up to his knees, offered Rodney a hand. “Come on.”

Rodney accepted it, rose, and let John lead him out of the common room.

The opening ceremony after-party wasn’t just confined to the English-speaking and Russian contingents but spilling across the entire Olympic village from nation to nation, dancing and drinking and reveling. John cut through the crowds swiftly, circled around behind a quieter house, and to a side gate in the wall.

Rodney hesitated, because he didn’t speak the local language, and wandering the streets of a strange city probably constituted one of those things Coach Weir wouldn’t want him to do. But John spoke to the uniformed security guard at the door in soft but fluent tones, and the man smiled at him before nodding and opening the door, and then they were out on the bustling sidewalk where other Olympic fans were also partying it up, hugging and taking pictures and cheering and dancing to music spilling from cars and phones.

John popped the collar on his jacket, ducked his chin, jammed on a generic beanie instead of the Team USA one, and then he was ducking and weaving through the crowd once more, Rodney trailing behind him. They climbed onto a crowded bus - John paid the fare with a brief press of his cellphone - and then they were jolting through traffic. John chatted casually with some of the other passengers, smiling and nodding, unfairly charming. Even with his trademark messy hair and elfin ears concealed, he was beautiful. He was so far out of Rodney’s league.

But he hadn’t let go of Rodney’s hand once.

The bus stopped several times before John squeezed Rodney’s hand, and then they tumbled off the bus and onto the sidewalk outside the ice rink.

“What are we doing here?” Rodney asked.

“Going ice skating, obviously.”

“The place is locked down for the night,” Rodney protested.

John started toward the building, skirted around to a side door where he spoke to yet another uniformed guard who smiled and opened the door for them. The hallways were dark, and John and Rodney both used the flashlights on their cellphones to navigate back to the locker rooms. Their lockers were side by side.

John opened his and fished out his practice skates, sat down and tugged off his sneakers.

Rodney stared at him. “We’re really going skating?”

John nodded and pulled on his right skate, started lacing it up.

“But what if we get hurt?”

“We don’t be doing any crazy jumps or lifts or throws, I promise,” John said.

So Rodney opened his locker, found his practice skates, and sat beside John on the bench, proceeded to lace up.

Once they were laced up, they headed out to the rink, paused at the wall.

The ice was perfectly smooth, pristine, flawless, like glass.

“Ready?” John asked.

Rodney nodded. “You?”

“Yeah. Let me pick a song.” John unlocked his phone, picked a song, turned it all the way up, tucked the phone into his pocket, and then stepped onto the ice. 

Slow, gentle violin strains filled the still air. John was notorious for rebellious song choices, Johnny Cash or classical instrumental covers of metal songs, so the song choice was a surprise. Jeanne would have approved. 

John turned, offered his hand to Rodney.

Rodney took it, stepped out onto the ice beside him. And then they were gliding, hand in hand, tracing lazy circles across the pristine surface, carving trails and curves while a woman sang about waltzing with destiny, time dancers, and sacred geometry.

It was easy to move with the gentle, sweeping music. It was easy to move with John, changing edges, turning, spinning, gliding. Skating was almost like flying. John was taller than Rodney, and for a solo skater he was a natural leader. He switched his grip on Rodney’s hand and Rodney knew to cross behind him on the curve, to come out of a circle on the other side of him. It was natural, easy, to let John draw him into an embrace for a pair turn or pair spin.

When the song ended, John slowed to a stop, breathing hard, grinning, his cheeks flushed.

“See? Skating.”

Rodney nodded, a little breathless, and not just from the effort of keeping up with John across the ice.

“You’re pretty good,” John said.

“Well, this  _ is  _ the Olympics.”

John arched an eyebrow.

Rodney amended, “You’re pretty good, too.”

“No, I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. I was expecting  _ I’m not just pretty good, I’m the best _ or something.”

Rodney realized. “You do remember me yelling at you.”

“Yeah. I remember every word.”

Rodney winced, went to pull away, but John’s hand on his tightened.

“Like I said, all is forgiven. See, the day we met, my mom had died two weeks before, and I was fresh off the funeral.”

Rodney’s heart sank, and he tried to pull away again, but John was much stronger than his skinny frame suggested.

“Everyone had been treating me with kid gloves, oozing fake sympathy, treating me like I was fragile, like I was going to break, like I was going to choke at my first big nationals event - and then there was you. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You treated me - honestly. And as crazy as it sounds, I needed that.” John tugged Rodney closer, gazed into his eyes. “You’ve been waiting three years to apologize to me. I’ve been waiting three years to thank you. So - thank you, Rodney McKay.”

“You’re welcome,” Rodney said faintly.

John leaned in and kissed him.

Rodney kissed him back, heart racing, and knew that however he and Jeannie did, whatever medals they did or didn’t get, he’d already won.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the song the boys skated to: Dark Waltz by Hayley Westenra.
> 
> So the other night we skipped Valentine's Dinner in favor of a late birthday dinner with family, and the Olympics were playing on TV, and while the pair skating was on I commented to my spousal unit that that kind of event would be suuuuuuper awkward if the two skaters were siblings, and then my spousal unit joked that we should watch Blades of Glory, which of course made me think of SGA and that weird Blades of Glory exchange between John and Ronon, and then I had thinky thoughts, because the pair that was rocking it while we were eating was from Canada, and then this story happened. Long story short: my brain is weird, but have some McShep fluff!


End file.
